


from dusk to dawn(and then some)

by SeeTheVision



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Actually Unrequited Love, OT7 NCT Dream, Pining, Sharing a Bed, and there was only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27333244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeTheVision/pseuds/SeeTheVision
Summary: Mark slapped some change on the counter, hopped off his stool, and held his hand out to Jeno. “Mark Lee, lead guitarist of City Dreamscape.”Jeno smiled wide enough to crinkle his eyes into sweet crescents.Donghyuck’s world slowed in that moment, like the last pause at the top of a roller coaster before the cart hurtles down the track.“Jeno Lee,” the waiter introduced himself, shaking Mark’s offered hand.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Lee Jeno
Comments: 22
Kudos: 226
Collections: '00 FIC FEST ROUND TWO





	from dusk to dawn(and then some)

**Author's Note:**

> prompt #00370  
> this prompt ran away with me a little bit but i hope you like it! "and there was only one bed" is one of my favorite tropes!

**1:31 AM: Donghyuck**

A swath of moonlight streams through a gap in the curtains, painting the far wall in patches of silver. Donghyuck stares resolutely at the dappled patterns, trying to focus on something, anything other than the telltale warmth of another body in his bed. He suppresses a shiver, imagining that he can feel Jeno’s breath on the back of his neck— which is stupid. Jeno, like Donghyuck, is lying on his side, facing the opposite direction.

The light must have traveled hundreds of millions of miles, rays from the sun reflecting off the moon. All that way just to end up illuminating the blank wall of a hotel as Donghyuck watches, gripping his sheets with white knuckles. It’s an infinitely small chance, in the vastness of the universe, that Donghyuck, Jeno, and the light of the moon all ended up here, now. Somehow, their paths through space intercepted each other, maybe set on a collision course from the beginning of time.

Donghyuck first fell into Jeno’s orbit in high school, when Mark Lee had the dumbass idea that would direct the course of all their lives.

“Hey Hyuck,” he’d said, his round eyes sparkling in that puppy-dog way Donghyuck could never say no to, “we should start a band.”

  
  
  
  


**1:39 AM: Jeno**

Donghyuck isn’t asleep. 

Jeno listens to every inhale and exhale, wondering when he’d become so attuned to the way Donghyuck breathes. In between late-night rehearsals that ended with them camped out on Mark’s sofas, and offering his shoulder as a pillow on long car rides to and from venues, Jeno’s memorized the familiar sound like a favorite lullaby.

In the four years since they’d met, Donghyuck hasn’t changed much. His hair is longer, his jawline sharper, his eyes a bit more serious, but his tan skin still gleams like gold and caramel under the spotlights at every gig, his eyes still sparkle with mischief, his voice still captivates every crowd. On the other hand, Jeno feels like a completely different person than the lanky, self-conscious sixteen-year-old he’d been back then. Sometimes he wonders, have they become too different? Have they outgrown each other? But then Donghyuck catches his eye over the microphone and smiles that same blinding, heart-stopping smile, and Jeno thinks that whatever it is that binds him to Donghyuck, it will never fade.

He itches to reach out, wrap his arms around Donghyuck and tug him against his chest. Donghyuck’s messy hair catches the moonlight like strands of silver, so close that Jeno can smell hints of his shampoo from across the landscape of sheets and pillows that separates them. If Jeno moved his hand just another few inches, he could touch the wavy locks splayed across the pillow. 

Instead, he turns over and closes his eyes.

  
  
  
  


**2:48 AM: Donghyuck**

The alarm clock on the bedside table blinks mockingly, ugly red numbers counting each minute of Donghyuck’s failure to fall asleep. With a sigh, he flips onto his back to resume the fascinating pastime of staring at the ceiling—pointedly keeping his gaze from straying to the lump of blankets that is Jeno beside him. Donghyuck can still feel his warmth bleeding into the mattress like poison creeping through veins. If it reaches his heart, there will be no hope left for him.

 _Stupid metaphor,_ Donghyuck thinks with a silent scoff. Jeno’s warmth had crept into his heart long ago

It’s Jaemin’s fault, really.

After Mark and Donghyuck realized that two kids wouldn’t be much of a band by themselves, they began recruiting. The first to join them was Renjun, who Donghyuck knew through the school choir program. Mark had raised an eyebrow at Donghyuck’s insistence of a second vocalist but gave in quickly when he heard Renjun’s voice. Along with him came Chenle, Renjun’s younger brother. Although used to classical piano, Chenle adjusted to an electric keyboard well enough. When Mark mentioned in one of their early rehearsals that a drummer would be essential, Chenle suggested his friend Jisung, who joined on the condition that rehearsals wouldn’t run past his parents’ strict curfew.

With five members, City Dreamscape began to feel like a real band, an impossible wish come to life. Donghyuck remembers the elation of their first real jam session, the amps Donghyuck had found at a second-hand store crackling and echoing off the bare walls and concrete floor of Mark’s garage.

But something was missing.

“We need a bassist,” Jisung said about a week later, knocking his drumsticks against his thigh. He always seemed to be moving—tapping fingers, jogging knee, bobbing head—as if the rhythm inside him strained to be released. “I can’t keep you guys on beat all by myself.”

“Hey!” Chenle protested, “We aren’t _that_ bad.”

“Jisung is right,” Mark interjected before any more arguing could break out. “Any strong band needs the backbone of drum _and_ bass guitar.”

Donghyuck furrowed his brow. “Does anyone at our school play bass?”

“My friend Jaemin plays guitar,” offered Renjun, “but I don’t know about bass. Should we ask him?”

The next day, Jaemin Na stepped into the garage with his easy smile and his beat-up skateboard, which he set aside in exchange for the bass guitar Mark’s brother left behind when he went to college.

“Do you know how to play bass?” Mark asked.

Jaemin shrugged. “How different can it be?”

Pretty different, it turned out.

“This is stupid,” complained Jaemin. “They’re basically the same instrument, why is it so hard?”

Mark sighed, but he offered a hand to Jaemin. “Well, there’s no harm in another guitar. Welcome to City Dreamscape, Jaemin, and bring your own instrument next time.”

Mark was right—the addition of Jaemin’s style gave their sound a new flavor, and his vibrant personality drew their group closer. The six of them began gravitating together, not only at rehearsals but at school as well, despite being in different grades.

“That doesn’t change the fact that we still don’t have a bassist,” Chenle pointed out, kicking his feet. They were seated at the counter of a local diner, legs dangling from the overly-tall stools as they sipped milkshakes from overly-tall glasses.

“Bassist?”

Donghyuck started at the unexpected voice, elbow bumping his milkshake. The waiter caught the glass before it could spill, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear. You guys are in a band?”

“Yeah,” confirmed Donghyuck, giving the waiter a once-over. He looked about their age, around Jaemin’s height, with black hair and black-rimmed glasses. The name tag pinned to his red apron read _Jeno,_ followed by a smiley face _._ “I haven’t seen you around before.” _And I would have remembered a face like that,_ he thought.

“I just started working here a couple of weeks ago” Jeno shrugged, “and I go to the high school on the other side of town.” He raised an eyebrow at the scrutiny, turning the conversation back. “You’re looking for a bassist?”

“We are,” said Mark, eyes bright with interest. “Are you one?”

“I might be,” said Jeno, one corner of his lips turning up.

“Good enough for me,” Mark slapped some change on the counter, hopped off his stool, and held his hand out to Jeno. “Mark Lee, lead guitarist of City Dreamscape.”

Jeno smiled wide enough to crinkle his eyes into sweet crescents. 

Donghyuck’s world slowed in that moment, like the last pause at the top of a roller coaster before the cart hurtles down the track.

“Jeno Lee,” the waiter introduced himself, shaking Mark’s offered hand.

A car passes on the street below, headlights sending stripes of yellow across the ceiling and breaking Donghyuck out of his reverie. As the still silver darkness returns, Donghyuck resolutely closes his eyes, begging sleep to come.

  
  
  


**11:43 PM: Jeno**

“I have good news and bad news,” says their weary manager, Doyoung. “Which do you want first?”

“Good news,” says Chenle, eyes still bleary from his nap during the car ride, squinting at the soft lights of the hotel lobby.

“We managed to book the last four available rooms,” says Doyoung.

“So what’s the bad news?” asks Renjun.

Doyoung sighs, as though anticipating the chaos to be unleashed by his answer. “One of the rooms only has one bed.” Thankfully, the boys are too tired and eager for a proper bed to put up much of a fuss.

Mark shrugs. “Rock paper scissors it is then. The first two losers have to share.”

“And the third loser has to room with Doyoung,” adds Donghyuck, nimbly dodging the smack their manager aims for his head.

As if in penance for poking fun at Doyoung, Donghyuck promptly loses the first round, to the general delight of the group. Donghyuck shrugs, accepting his failure with grace.

Jeno laughs along, barely registering what his hand chooses until he scans the rest— five closed fists and a lone pair of scissors.

  
  
  


**12:17 AM: Donghyuck**

It’s not a small bed. There’s ample room to stretch his limbs without encroaching on Jeno’s space, so why does he feel Jeno’s presence so starkly? He’s squeezed limb-to-limb with Mark at countless sleepovers as they grew up, he’s crashed on a couch with Jaemin nearly on top of him—hell, he even fell asleep on Jisung’s lap once, so why does a king-sized bed with Jeno feel infinitely more intimate?

He knows the answer before his mind’s finished formulating the question. Donghyuck isn’t in love with any of the others.

The mattress dips as Jeno shifts the turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. “Goodnight, Donghyuck,” he murmurs, the first words spoken since they entered the room. They’d washed up, brushed their teeth, changed into their pajamas, all in silence. Donghyuck could blame it on exhaustion, but in truth, he’d been terrified to shatter the delicate silence.

 _Stupid,_ he scolds himself, closing his eyes. _Jeno’s your friend and bandmate. Nothing less. Nothing more._

  
  
  


**3:06 AM: Jeno**

If the multiverse theory is true, Jeno thinks there must be an infinite number of universes in which he is not lying here, staring at the ceiling and listening to Donghyuck breathe. How many combinations of rock paper scissors could have led to his victory, or at least someone else sharing his defeat? Beyond that, how many universes must there be in which City Dreamscape doesn't exist, or in which he never joined? If the others had chosen anywhere else to bemoan their lack of a bassist, or if Jaemin had mastered the instrument, Jeno might be blissfully unaware of the stress, pain, and unspeakable joy that comes with the life of a performer.

But the biggest splinter, the point at which their fate could have turned in a completely different direction, was when Mark graduated high school.

Jeno didn't go to the same school, but he went to Mark's graduation. He remembers glancing at the faces of his friends as they watched their leader cross the stage in his cap and gown to receive his diploma. In that moment, it was clear that the same thought was at the forefront of each of their minds: _What happens now?_

After the ceremony, the members of City Dreamscape found themselves in Mark's basement, celebrating half-heartedly.

Mark cleared his throat. "Guys," he started, voice cracking in his nervousness. "I have something to tell you. I should have said something earlier, but I didn't know how." From his pocket, he pulled a sheet of paper, folded edges worn as though he'd carried it with him for weeks. "This is my acceptance letter. From UCLA."

The obvious reaction should have been excitement. They should have gathered Mark into a group hug, screaming their congratulations and well-wishes for his future. Instead, six pairs of eyes stared blankly, six mouths hung open in shock.

Donghyuck was the first to break the silence. "Will you go?"

 _Of course he will,_ Jeno had thought. _Who would pass up an opportunity like that? What could possibly persuade him to stay?_

"I don't know," Mark answered, holding each of their gazes in turn. "I haven't decided yet."

That summer was like floating in limbo. Official practice sessions were on hold until further notice, but most afternoons would find two or three of them together somewhere, be it Mark’s garage or Renjun and Chenle’s basement or squeezed into Donghyuck’s bedroom. They were still musicians after all; Jeno’s fingers itched to play, even if he only ended up plucking random chords white Jisung tapped his drumsticks on Renjun’s ping-pong table.

As the deadline for registration crept closer, they saw less and less of Mark. “I’m worried about him,” confided Donghyuck one night. The two of them had climbed out of Jeno’s bedroom window onto the roof, watching side by side as the sunset faded into scattered stars. “He’s beating himself up over us.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wants to go—at least, some part of him does. I’ve known him for years, and he’s always had this spark, this gleam in his eyes like he could see so far beyond this small town.” Donghyuck’s glassy eyes reflected the stars as he gazed at the sky. “If it wasn’t for us, the band, he would have said yes in an instant.”

Jeno looked to the western horizon, where the last of the dying sunlight lingers in a greenish haze. “And now? Do you think he’ll go?”

“I hope not,” Donghyuck admitted, shoulders slumping as the stars fell from his eyes. “It’s selfish and childish, but I don’t want him to leave.”

“I don’t either,” said Jeno slowly. “But I don’t want him to stay for _us._ I don’t want him to feel trapped by an obligation to us, or the band. If he stays, I want him to choose that for himself.”

Donghyuck nodded, dropping his head onto Jeno’s shoulder as he roughly rubbed at his eyes.

What a stupid, inconvenient moment for Jeno to realize that he was in love with his (possibly-soon-to-be-ex) bandmate.

Jeno cringes, turning his head on the pillow and shoving that sentiment down, some part of him fearing that if he thinks too loud, Donghyuck will somehow hear him. The crisp hotel sheets suddenly feel stifling, and Jeno slips from beneath them as quietly as possible. He needs some fresh air to clear away to cobwebs of memory that cling to him, tying him to Donghyuck like a snare.

  
  
  


**3:24 AM: Donghyuck**

He must have dozed off for a while, because when he opens his eyes again, the shadows on the ceiling have shifted and the other side of the bed is cold. Wondering what had awoken him, Donghyuck scans the room.

The curtain is pushed to the side, the sliding door to the tiny balcony open. The cool night breeze curls into the room in gentle gusts that caress Donghyuck’s skin, making him shiver. Jeno stands silhouetted in moonlight, arms resting on the railing as he gazes out at the unfamiliar cityscape. After a moment of deliberation, Donghyuck slips from the safety of the blankets, tugging his shorts down to cover his exposed thighs, and pads across the carpet to join Jeno.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” says Jeno without taking his gaze from the view. Swathed in the silver moonlight and golden light from the street lamps, the city is almost unrecognizable from the bustling, dirty place it was during the day.

Despite the captivating view, Donghyuck feels his gaze drawn back to Jeno. He too seems transformed, the dim light casting his face into harsh shadows, showing off the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones. Looking at him now, Donghyuck can barely connect this solid, capable, confident Jeno to the adorably awkward boy he’d met four years ago.

Jeno passed out at their first real gig. They’d played a couple of small birthday parties and a school dance, but after nearly seven months of City Dreamscape spending all their free time in Mark’s garage, they received an email from a local businessman requesting them to play at an event he was hosting for his clients and employees the next month. Mark’s eyes went round as he read the offered commission.

The decision was unanimous: they _had_ to take this gig.

“This could be exactly what we need to get our name out there,” Renjun beamed, nearly trembling with excitement. “How many people do you think will be there?”

“A couple hundred, at least,” said Mark, “judging by the venue he’s renting.” He turned his phone to show them the google results on the venue.

Jeno, Donghyuck noticed, was remarkably quiet. He’d been a bit withdrawn when he first joined City Dreamscape, but after the first few weeks he warmed up to them all. Although Jeno was the last member to join and didn’t attend the same high school as the rest of them, Donghyuck couldn’t fathom how they’d possibly survived without him. Aside from his bass being the backbone of their sound, his steadiness and good-natured attitude became the backbone of their group’s dynamic, on and off the stage. He was reliable, unshakable.

He looked pretty shaken, though. 

“ _Hundreds_ of people?” he’d murmured, face a little paler than usual.

“That’s amazing,” shrieked Chenle. “Your parents _will_ let you go, right?” he asked Jisung.

The conversation shifted to the problem of getting Jisung’s overprotective parents, who had grown fond of the band and used to rehearsals but would undoubtedly object to such an event, to allow him to go. Only Donghyuck’s worried gaze remained on Jeno, who quickly recovered his usual mask of calm. 

In the following weeks, the members of City Dreamscape spent every spare minute in Mark’s garage, creating and perfecting their setlist: a mixture of covers and original songs. Sometimes they had to stop practice to bandage Mark or Jaemin or Jeno, whose fingers bled from hours on the strings. Some nights would find Donghyuck camped out in Mark’s living room with his hands curled around a mug of lemon-honey tea for his tired throat, desperately trying to finish his homework for the next day.

When the long-awaited day arrived, they packed their assorted instruments and equipment into the back of Mark’s truck with frazzled nerves. Unloading at the venue was chaotic, dodging staff and caterers as they set up on the raised stage at the end of a long meeting hall.

“We’re playing in an actual ballroom,” Renjun marveled, watching the chandelier glimmer high above.

“The guests will start arriving in about ten minutes,” Mark said, checking his watch. “Let’s get warmed up.”

Donghyuck lost track of what the others were doing as he and Renjun sang a few scales and checked their microphones. By the time the doors of the ballroom opened and the first guests entered, his nerves were buzzing with anticipation.

“Are we ready?” He turned to his band, looking like real professionals under the bright lights. 

“Oh god,” mumbled Jeno, staring with wide eyes as the huge space gradually filled with people. His face was pale, almost waxen against his dark hair. “Oh god,” he repeated before his eyes rolled back in his head and his knees buckled.

“What are you snickering about?” asks Jeno, snapping Donghyuck back to the present.

“Remember that time you fainted onto Chenle’s keyboard in front of a hundred people?”

“I will throw you off this balcony,” Jeno threatens, grabbing at Donghyuck’s arms and tugging him against the railing. Donghyuck allows himself to be pulled, leaning backward over empty space as the cold metal bleeds through his shirt.

“Do it,” he dares, tilting back even further, “you won’t.”

“No, I won’t,” Jeno admits. “Get away from the edge before you give me a heart attack.” He yanks Donghyuck’s shoulders, pulling him against his chest.

Time flows differently in the hours between dusk and dawn. Donghyuck could swear they hang suspended in that moment for an eternity, chest to chest, nearly nose to nose. Jeno’s eyes are black in the moonlight and full of the neon colors reflected from the city street below as he studies Donghyuck’s face. “I don’t want you to fall,” he murmurs.

 _Too late,_ Donghyuck thinks.

  
  
  


**3:46 AM: Jeno**

After the crisp chill of the night air on the balcony, the blankets feel overly warm, so Jeno opts to stretch out on top of the covers. He’s careful not to touch Donghyuck, but the memory of his body heat clings to Jeno’s hands, arms, chest. 

In a moment of insanity, he had allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to kiss Donghyuck, in the dark with the city lights splayed out below them. It would have taken the barest move, just a few inches. Donghyuck’s lips would have been plush, warm. His beautiful chocolate brown eyes would have fluttered shut, eyelashes resting against the soft curve of his cheek. Jeno would have pulled back slightly, just enough to work his mouth over Donghyuck’s cheek and down his neck, pressing a kiss against each of the dainty moles scattered like a constellation across his honey skin. He would have felt Donghyuck’s pulse beat against his lips.

Jeno shivers, trying to rid himself of the fantasy. These aren’t thoughts he should be having about his friend, especially not when said friend is lying barely a foot away.

“Are you okay?” whispers Donghyuck uncertainly. “Are you cold?”

“No,” replies Jeno, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m fine.”

It’s a stupid, hopelessly foolish daydream. Jeno has no reason to believe Donghyuck wouldn’t simply push him away.

  
  
  


**3:50 AM: Donghyuck**

The loss of Jeno’s arms around him leaves Donghyuck freezing. It doesn’t help that the time they'd spent with the balcony door open allowed the cold night to enter, and Donghyuck burrows into the blanket in search of some remaining warmth. 

Jeno seems to have no such problem, lying on top of the covers with his arms and calves bare, along with a strip of toned abdomen exposed where his shirt has ridden up(Donghyuck resolutely presses his face into his pillows). Then again, Jeno’s always run hot. Donghyuck aches to press himself to Jeno’s side, curl against his chest and absorb the heat curling off his skin. Maybe then sleep would finally come for him.

He remains still, blanket pulled up to his chin, staring blankly at the wall.

  
  
  


**6:54 AM: Jeno**

Dawn creeps into the room so slowly he barely notices, the light brightening almost imperceptibly from minute to minute. The curtains to the balcony are still open, and Jeno can see a patch of sky turning pink and gold. With a sigh, he finally gives up on trying to sleep; he may as well accept his defeat with grace, even if he feels like he’s been hit by a bus. With heavy limbs, he drags himself from the soft embrace of the blankets and trudges toward the bathroom, hoping a shower will make him feel more human. 

Stupid universe or fate or whatever it was that got him in this situation, Jeno thinks grumpily as the warm water soaks through the fog in his brain. Deep down, though, he knows it’s his own fault. His own decisions lead to a sleepless night in an unfamiliar room, but he wouldn’t trade those choices for the world.

The night before Mark’s registration deadline, he called an emergency meeting. Despite the late hour and the lack of warning, everyone congregated in Mark’s garage within twenty minutes of his message to their group chat. Jisung arrived last, breathing heavily with a scratch on the side of his cheek.

“What happened to you?” wondered Chenle, reaching over to pick a leaf out of Jisung’s mussed hair. 

“My parents said I couldn’t come,” he explained sheepishly, touching his fingers gingerly to his wounded cheek, “so I climbed down the tree outside my window.”

“Oh god, Jisung, I’m sorry,” Mark winced, gently turning Jisung’s face to examine his cut in the light of the single bare bulb on the ceiling. “I didn’t even consider your parents. Let me go get you a bandaid—”

“No,” said Jisung firmly, pulling away from Mark’s touch. “That can wait. Why did you ask us to come?” He set his jaw, stiffening as if preparing for a blow. “Are you going to tell us you’ve decided to leave?”

All the energy seemed to drain out of Mark’s body and he sank onto one of the standing speakers. Normally Jaemin would scold him for using their equipment as furniture, but he remained silent as all six of them stared at Mark, waiting.

“Is this what you guys want to do?” asked Mark, running his fingers through his tangled hair. “Like, for real? Are you prepared to commit to being a musician?” He looked at each of them in turn. “Because I am. This is what I want to do with my life, but… I can’t do it without you. Any of you. So if you feel like this isn’t what you’re meant to be, tell me now, and I’ll accept the offer to go to school instead.”

Jeno lowered his gaze. He’d joined City Dreamscape for fun, on a whim really, back when he’d been terrified of being on a stage. When they began, the band had been more of a hobby, seven boys killing time and goofing off. In a way, they still were: teenagers dicking around in a garage and occasionally scoring a gig. Mark was asking them to become more, Jeno realized. A _real_ band. Could he be ready for that? Was that what he wanted?

Looking around at the six faces surrounding him, six boys who had come to mean the world to him, he thought it could be. As long as they were together. Hell, if Mark suggested the seven of them run away and join the circus, he’d probably say yes. In the end, maybe it wouldn’t matter what life he chose to live, but who he decided to spend it with.

“Yes.” Jeno was the first to speak. “This is what I want.”

“Yes.” Jaemin echoed, his eyes blazing with that familiar fire.

“Of course, idiot,” Donghyuck added, laying a comforting hand on Mark’s shoulder.

“You’re stuck with me,” said Renjun with a smirk.

Chenle shrugged. “I go where Renjun goes.”

“I’ll have to ask my parents,” said Jisung, “but I can always run away from home if they say no.”

Mark’s eyes glimmered with tears, and Jeno was unsurprised when his own vision started to blur.

“Together, then,” said Mark, holding out his arms for a group hug.

“Together,” they agreed, throwing themselves into a tangle of squeezing limbs and hot tears.

With a sigh, Jeno switches off the water and scrubs a hand through his sopping hair. He needs to pull himself together for the performance tonight. He grabs a fluffy white towel off the shelf, avoiding catching a glimpse of his reflection; he hopes his eyes aren’t nearly as puffy as they feel, but he’d rather not find out for sure.

  
  
  


**7:14 AM: Donghyuck**

The rumble of the shower from the en suite bathroom slowly tugs Donghyuck from his stupor. He wasn’t asleep, merely floating in the hazy space between consciousness and oblivion. The golden morning sunlight and merrily chirping birds outside mock his exhaustion. _Isn’t it a beautiful morning, Donghyuck?_

“Shut the hell up,” Donghyuck groans.

“I didn’t say anything,” replies a bemused Jeno, returning from his shower with a towel slung around his hips. Donghyuck buries his head under his pillow to spare himself from both the birdsong and the sight of Jeno’s bare chest still glistening with drops of water. Jeno chuckles softly as he rustles around, getting dressed. “We’re meeting in the lobby at nine o’clock for breakfast,” Jeno informs him. “Doyoung’s orders.”

“Why does he have to be a morning person?” Donghyuck complains, finally sitting up once he’s sure Jeno is decent.

“It’s his only flaw,” Jeno points out. 

Well, he really can’t argue with that. Although he likes to give his manager a hard time, Donghyuck has to admit that they wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without Doyoung. He was an angel sent from heaven in the form of Jeno’s cousin, armed with a degree in music management. Why he decided to grant his benevolence to a group of untrained teenage boys with second-hand instruments, Donghyuck had no idea. 

He asked once, after their first time in a professional recording studio owned by a man Doyoung had gone to college with. 

“Why did I agree to be manager for a gaggle of brats like you?” he mused, taking a sip of his coffee. “Maybe I just can’t say no to Jeno’s puppy eyes. Or maybe,” he raised an eyebrow skeptically, “I can see that your band has real potential.”

“I think it was the puppy eyes,” Jeno interjected.

Regardless of the reason, from the moment Doyoung became their manager, Donghyuck’s life seemed to be on fast forward. His senior year of high school was a blur of barely-passed exams and long hours of songwriting, rehearsal, and recording. Two weeks after he, Jaemin, Jeno, and Renjun graduated, City Dreamscape’s first online ep was released. He remembers Doyoung joining the seven of them in crowding around Mark’s laptop, streaming their own music for the first time.

“You kids really have something special,” he told them, grinning widely enough that his pink gums peeked out from behind his lips. “I’m proud of you.”

“You’d better get up if you want to shower before breakfast,” warns Jeno. Donghyuck glances at the clock, cursing when he realizes he’d zoned out for over an hour.

“Fuck Doyoung and his stupid timetable,” he fumes, tumbling out of bed and promptly stubbing his toe on the nightstand, knocking the alarm clock to the floor. _Serves it right, the smug bastard,_ he thinks, giving it a kick for good measure. “Stop laughing, Jeno!”

  
  
  


**8:58 AM: Jeno**

They make it to the lobby with two minutes to spare, Donghyuck’s long golden-brown hair still dripping water onto the collar of his t-shirt. 

“You look like a drowned rat,” Renjun greets him before turning to Jeno. “And you look like a raccoon. Did you sleep at all.”

“Of course I did,” Jeno lies easily, summoning his brightest close-eyed grin.

The restaurant on the bottom floor of the hotel is already bustling with activity, cooks calling to each other as the harried waitstaff hurry back and forth with plates of eggs and pancakes. Doyoung shepherds them all into a booth large enough for the eight of them and breaks up a budding fight between Jaemin and Renjun over whether or not Jaemin snores. Usually, the chaotic energy of his group raises Jeno’s spirits; today, he just wants to put his head down on the table and close his eyes.

“I’m so glad I submitted my history essay before we left home,” sighs Chenle as the waitress sets a stack of blueberry pancakes in front of him. 

Jisung nearly chokes on a mouthful of bacon. “Wait, we had an essay?”

“It’s due tonight, dude,” reminds Chenle, unimpressed.

“Oh, fu—”

“Language,” Doyoung and Jaemin scold in unison.

“Frick,” Jisung corrects. “I guess I won’t be doing any sightseeing before the gig tonight.”

Adjusting to online classes for their final year of school had been tough on Chenle and Jisung, but it was the only way for the band to be active and still allow the youngest to get their diplomas—which was the ultimatum set by Jisung’s parents. _We’ll support you to pursue your dream,_ they’d said, _but not at the cost of your education._

“Sucks to be you,” jeers Chenle, flicking a blueberry across the table.

Donghyuck rubs at his temple, staring balefully at his plate of food as if eating is an insurmountable challenge. Jeno feels the same way, his tired body rejecting the smell of his fried eggs

He tries to listen as Mark lists off the evening’s itinerary, but his eyelids feel like lead weights. All night long sleep had evaded him, but now it pounces with claws extended.

“Jeno looks like he’s gonna pass out face-first into his breakfast,” Renjun points out as soon as Mark finishes.

Jeno lifts his drooping head and blinks owlishly at Renjun. “Huh?”

A dull _thunk_ makes him jump and turn to Donghyuck, whose forehead now rests on the sturdy wooden table. “Ow,” he groans weakly.

“Did you two stay up playing video games or something?” asks Mark sternly.

“Um… no?”

Jaemin smirks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Stay up doing something more interesting?” 

Cheeks heating, Jeno shoots him the best glare he can muster.

“I will beat your ass, Na,” threatens Donghyuck, not bothering to lift his head. 

“Whatever,” interrupts Mark before Jaemin’s evil grin can manifest into anything more, “it’s obvious that neither of you can perform in this state, so you’d better go back to bed.” Donghyuck’s forehead finally disconnects from the table as he stifles a yawn.

“Yeah,” agrees Doyoung, fixing them with his trademarked _Or Else_ glare, “and I’m confiscating your phones so you actually sleep.”

Reluctantly, Jeno hands over his phone. “We weren’t playing video games,” Donghyuck grumbles, but follows suit; neither of them has the energy to argue as Doyoung shoos them back toward the elevator, followed by a glum Jisung.

“I don’t suppose either of you knows anything about World War I?” Jisung asks as Mark, Renjun, Jaemin, and Chenle push through the revolving doors into the bustling city.

“Some dude got assassinated and then everyone got pissed,” offers Donghyuck as the elevator doors close and they begin to rise.

Jisung turns pleading eyes to Jeno, who just shrugs. “Good luck, kid.”

The elevator dings and Jisung sighs, taking off toward his room without another word.

“Not sure what he was expecting,” mumbles Donghyuck. “I barely passed history senior year.”

“You barely passed anything senior year,” Jeno reminds him.

The punch that Donghyuck lands on Jeno’s shoulder has barely any force. “Shut the hell your mouth.”

“What?” 

“I don’t know, dude,” Donghyuck groans. “I wanna go to bed.”

No matter how hard he tries, Jeno can’t _not_ notice how adorable Donghyuck looks like this—drooping eyelids, mouth pursed in a slight pout, fingers curled around the sleeve of his oversized sweatshirt as he rubs at his eyes. He almost says so, his tired brain nearly letting the words slip out, but he swallows them back at the last moment.

“Me too,” he says instead.

  
  
  


**9:33 AM: Donghyuck**

The bed is just as soft, the blankets just as warm, Jeno’s presence just as nerve-wracking as the previous night—but the difference is this: Donghyuck is far too tired to overthink. _If only that could have happened last night,_ he thinks as he kicks off his shoes and faceplants in the bed. He feels the mattress dip under the weight of Jeno settling on the other side.

Donghyuck’s thoughts are mushy and muddled, making it almost painful to think about anything. One elusive thought, however, pokes at the back of his mind until he reaches for it. Lifting his face from the downy cradle of the pillow, he squints at Jeno. Donghyuck knows why _he_ barely closed his eyes the whole night, but—

“Why are you so tired?” he asks.

With seeming difficulty, Jeno forces his eyes open. “Huh?”

“You look like you haven’t slept at all,” he points out.

“So do you,” counters Jeno, “and you can fall asleep anywhere. You fell asleep on my roof once.”

“Your roof is comfy,” says Donghyuck defensively.

Jeno turns on his side to face Donghyuck, eyes slightly bloodshot but piercing as he studies his face. “So what’s the matter?”

“Unfair,” Donghyuck complains, feeling his cheeks heating under Jeno’s scrutiny, “I asked first.”

Jeno lets out a little huff, like he wants to laugh but can’t find the energy. “I just couldn’t sleep, I had a lot on my mind. Why were you awake?”

“You woke me up when you opened the balcony,” replies Donghyuck. It’s not a complete lie, but Jeno raises an eyebrow.

“You were awake for hours before that.”

“How do you know?” asks Donghyuck, wishing he hadn’t started the conversation. All he wants is to curl up against Jeno’s chest and _sleep._

“You breathe differently when you sleep,” says Jeno. The words hang in the air between them for a moment before Jeno chuckles awkwardly. “That sounded weird.”

“How do I breathe when I sleep?” Donghyuck demands. “Do I snore or something?”

“No,” says Jeno, letting his head fall against the pillow in resignation, “it’s just slower, and there’s always a little pause before you breathe out.” He groans, rubbing at his eyes. “Why am I telling you this.”

Donghyuck props himself up on his elbow, some reserve of energy bubbling through his veins. “Just how much time have you spent listening to me sleep?”

“Haven’t we been over this already?” Jeno grumbles, yanking the blanket up to his chin. “You fall asleep anywhere, literally all the time.” He turns over, facing away from Donghyuck, but the back of his neck is blooming pink.

“Jeno,” says Donghyuck, poking the lump of blankets where he thinks Jeno’s ribs must be. “Jeno Jeno Jeno.”

“What?”

“Why couldn’t you sleep?”

“Why couldn’t _you?”_

The strength leaves Donghyuck’s arm and he collapses into his pillows, closing his eyes against the morning light and wishing he’d thought to draw the curtains. “Shut up.”

He feels the mattress shift again as Jeno rolls back to face him. “Hyuck.”

Donghyuck keeps his eyes shut, and Jeno huffs out a sigh that ghosts over Donghyuck’s warm cheeks. The morning light glows red through his eyelids until a shadow passes in front of his face, letting cool darkness envelop him, and a strong arm tucks itself around his waist. Biting back a squeak, Donghyuck allows himself to be drawn closer, pressed against Jeno’s broad chest. He doesn’t open his eyes, but his other senses kick into overdrive—the texture of Jeno’s t-shirt beneath his fingers, the smell of shampoo as the tips of Jeno’s hair tickle his forehead, the faint _thump-thump_ of Jeno’s heartbeat matching pace with his. 

“Are you nervous?” Donghyuck asks, grasping desperately for his usual teasing tone, but finding it out of reach.

“No,” answers Jeno, breathless, “I’m terrified.”

Somehow, Jeno’s fear floods Donghyuck with courage, forcing his tired eyes open. Jeno stares back at him, face to face like they were on the balcony, but everything seems different under the light of the sun.

“God, I’m too tired for this right now,” Donghyuck breathes.

Jeno swallows, dilated pupils roving over Donghyuck’s face. “Better make it quick, then.” 

For a moment, the inches between them hover, full of breath and anticipation, before Donghyuck closes the gap. Jeno tastes like toast and orange juice and the faintest aftertaste of toothpaste—not normally the most appealing combination, but Donghyuck doesn’t care. He’s kissing Jeno. Jeno isn’t pushing him away. His mouth is full of the taste of years of wanting finally fulfilled.

Jeno’s grip on his waist loosens as the tension in his muscles eases, his hand trailing up Donghyuck’s side, across his shoulder, cradling the back of his head. His fingers thread themselves into Donghyuck’s hair. _I’m so glad I let it grow out,_ Donghyuck thinks giddily as Jeno uses his grip to deepen the kiss.

The moment ends when Jeno pulls away to yawn.

“Very romantic,” Donghyuck giggles before his own exhaustion forces him to do the same.

“Do we need to, like,” Jeno fiddles with the hair at the nape of Donghyuck’s neck, “talk about this?”

“Later,” Donghyuck says, the heaviness in his eyelids overwhelming. “We can talk later.”

“Yeah,” Jeno agrees, his flushed lips quirking into a smile, his eyes half-closed. “Okay.”

The golden light of morning transforms the blank wall, rippling slightly as the shadow of the curtain sways. Donghyuck shuts his eyes against it, relishing in the warmth of Jeno’s arms around him, his chest pressed to Donghyuck’s back, their legs entangled. Under the light of the sun, he lets the gentle darkness of sleep draw him into its embrace.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

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